Lock My Heart for Safe Keeping
by Lucyxx888
Summary: Arya Stark and Gendry Waters reunite at Winterfell following King Jon's return and the Night King's impending attack.
1. Chapter 1: Arya & Sansa

_So I am completely new to this category and just playing around with this ship. I have never read the books but have the TV series under my belt so will try to blend the two together in this. And reviewing would be great so let me know what you all think! Enjoy! _

**Arya & Sansa.**

White snow was falling lightly from the grey skies, settling against the grounds, walls and the rooftops of Winterfell. A lone dark figure stood on the yard's overlook, silent and still as was her nature these days. A light icy breeze brushed against Arya Stark's cheeks and softly whispered her hair whilst she observed the training yard below.

The sharp clanging and scrapping of metal against metal, the tang of arrows being released from their bows and the grunts of exhaustion and strains of fighters were loud amongst the busy happenings of Winterfell's yard. Every man, woman and child was preparing for battle against the marching dead. Children run carrying buckets full of mud or water, both women and men were carrying armorer here and there and weapons were being sent to holds that were being stationed along the walls. It was an organized madness and flurry of action. The tension was high in the air Arya could feel it heavily. Jon had returned barely a few days prior bearing with him a Dragon Queen, two fully-grown dragons, an army of mismatched characters and news from Eastwatch that the dead had breached and destroyed the Wall. It had sent Winterfell into full military mobilization, every man, woman and child, high or low born, bastard or trueborn. The Night King was coming for them all.

So Arya had decided to train along with everyone else, largely helping to train those who had never held a weapon in their lives.

So she stood, stoic as ever and as tall as her status allowed, her hands clapped behind her back and her sharp silver eyes narrowed as she spotted a familiar pair sparring against each other. Brienne of Tarth's squire and _him_. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to watch them, there were plenty of other fighters to observe and correct, but _he_ was just so loud! Waving his bloody war hammer around, making such a spectacle, that it was near impossible not to notice.

_Bastard_, the vicious voice in Arya's head snarled. Her wolf's blood beat hot through her veins with anger as she watched the way he swung his war hammer with such power he easily dented Podrick's shield. She's always known his was strong for his age but she'd never seen him in his full glory until now. It sent something alight in her blood; anger? No, not _just _anger. Maybe _pride_? No, not that either.

He'd changed so much from the boy she'd known, from a boy following orders fighting only to defend, to now a man swinging a war hammer with such strength his only intention was to kill. She didn't truly understand what it was, but this feeling set her teeth on edge, made her restless, and she loathed it.

She watched as the squire jumped back a few paces as the bastard grinned twirling the hammer before swinging at the squire again. All power, Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance, after all these years he still lacked speed. _Stupid idiot with his stupid hammers_ growled that voice again.

It was at that moment Arya recognized her sister's footfalls coming up the stairs leading to the overlook where she was watching. Sansa paused on the top of the stairs her eyes on her younger sister for a quiet moment before she made her way over to her, leaning over the edge of the wooden railing to see what had captured her sister's attention so attentively.

The bastard kept swinging at him whilst Podrick leapt here and there, japing at his opponent when he could. But Arya knew eventually Podrick would begin to tire, his armor was new and heavy and the bastard's muscles were used to the constant strain and swing of his chosen weapon. He wore only his jerkin, his arms were bare and Arya noticed how the bulge of his muscles strained in long lean lines down his arms before she scowled at herself. His skin seemed even darker against the whiteness of the snow.

Suddenly Podrick stumbled a little over his own feet, and without a second hesitation the bastard took his chance, charging liked the bull he was, knocking the boy from his feet and in a single movement he swung his hammer over his head and brought it down, it's heavy thud against the ground marked the finality to the spar, landing barely an inch from the squire's forehead. Podrick's eyes were wide as saucers as he stared up at his opponent who's hard expression broke into a smirk as he pulled his hammer from the snow, took a step back and offered out a hand for the squire.

"Jon says he's Robert Baratheon's bastard son," Sansa said, "And he managed to escape Joffrey. Lucky for us, we need a skilled blacksmith."

"So it seems," was Arya's simple reply.

Sansa's gaze returned to her sister's face watching her closely

Too closely Arya thought. She turned her head, meeting her sister's Tully blue eyes before turning on her heel and stalking away. Sansa watched her leave thoughtfully, not sure what to make of Arya's attitude towards the blacksmith. She knew they had known each other during their early travels, Gendry had finally admitted it to Jon, but Arya's cold hostility towards the man was unexplained. Gendry said it was because he had intended to leave her for the Brotherhood without Banners, wounding her pride, and not travel any further to find Robb and their mother, but Sansa suspected it might be something a little deeper for Arya.

She looked back down at the squire and blacksmith. The pair were both grinning and chuckling about something or other as they left the yard, chatting together.

Sansa narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips thoughtfully. She'd seen the look on her sister's face when she'd reached the overlook. Her lips were slightly parted, her expression less stoic and her eyes were glued to the blacksmith as he swung his hammer. He was strong Sansa acknowledged, and he had a very handsome quality to his face, in a hard sort of way.

She had also noticed that whenever the blacksmith came into Arya's line of sight her gaze would follow Gendry closely, glare at him with such a seething gaze it could melt ice. Nevertheless, in each moment Arya had eyes only for him. Sansa didn't know whether to smirk or frown at the thought, she suspected Arya didn't quite understand what she was feeling which explained her terrible moods lately, but Sansa did. And she wasn't sure whether to let it set a flame or snuff out the light before it had consumed her younger sister whole.

**Arya**

"Stupid Sansa" Arya muttered under her breathe as she made her way down the corridor leading to her chambers, "Why do I care about who his father was!"

Knowing full well she was being childish she practically stomping into her room, slamming the door behind her and turned to glare at private space. Most of her chamber was the same as before she'd left all those years ago. A few pieces of furniture had been missing but what did she care for that? Her eyes landed on the small toy horse that she had found and had placed on her windowsill.

Robb's toy horse that he had given to Bran once he'd outgrown it.

Arya felt much of her anger ebb away as she crossed the room and picked up the horse feeling the smooth marble and hugged the plaything close to her chest watching the snow silently drift downwards outside her window. She didn't know why she was suddenly struck with wanting her oldest brother's comfort after all these years. Maybe because Sansa was nearly as cold as herself these days and Bran would barely utter two words to her and using that emotionless monotone voice of his if he did. Jon was in command now, being the man that she always knew he was, but she missed the times when her favourite brother only had time for her. He was so preoccupied these days to notice if his youngest sister needed to be reassured, if only for a moment. Somehow she knew if Robb were here he'd hold her tight, kiss the crown of her head and then ruffle her hair reminding her the she was a Stark of Winterfell, and wolves do not kneel to their sorrow or fear.

Yes, she was afraid, Arya mused, afraid of what came next. If, but the chance they defeated the Night King, and Arya marked off the remaining names on her list what would she be then? A Faceless Man with no faces left to take, a Lady who didn't know how to curtsy, or a wife who could probably bear no children after the Waif's attack?

Arya stopped her trail of thoughts knowing it was no good and placed Robb's childhood toy back on her windowsill stroking the horse lovingly for a moment before turning to her bed and finally noticed something that made her pause and frown. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

On her bed wrapped in a plain cloth was an instrument of some sort. Arya moved forward and slowly unwrapped the item and stared in her amazement. Gleaming up at her was a brand new sword. It was longer and thicker then needle, the blade was clean, sharp and beautiful. Arya knew simply by looking at it the blade was Valerian steel. She took the handle, testing the weight of the sword; the balance was perfect and the dark pommel fitted her hand perfectly. She saw on the end of the pommel there was engraved the head of a snarling direwolf, the same sigil that sat proudly on the Stark banners.

Arya swallowed thickly feeling her stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a beautiful creation. And she knew who had made it. There was only one blacksmith in Winterfell who had the skill to craft Valerian steel and would know her well enough to know exactly what she would need.


	2. Chapter 2: Gendry

_Here we go! Chapter two! Enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think!_

**Gendry**

Gendry was trying his best to avoid the Hound's blatant stare across the table over his mug of ale as he gulping the liquid heavily and slowly. He placed the mug down on the wooden table with a slow measured thud, keeping his eyes on the younger man as he licked his lopsided lips.

"Bless his Grace to the heavens and back," sighed Beric as he refilled his mug, "I haven't had good ale in moons. Reminds me of the Peach."

A chorus of agreement was joined in with some of the other members of the brotherhood whilst Tormund tore off a piece of meat from the bone with his teeth, chewing thoughtfully before saying, "What's a Peach?"

"A brothel my friend," answered Beric, "with little lasses as sweet as pie-"

The Wildling let out a bark of laugher, "_Little?! _Give me a woman like _her_. Loud and strong; a bitch in heat that needs a good thrashing!"

Gendry followed Tormund's line of sight. Brienne of Tarth stood fully armored, hand resting on her sword pommel near the high table. Her size as impressive and forbidding as usual, she was ever watchful for any threat that might be directed towards the Stark girls. Gendry would have chuckled at Tormund's failed wooing attempts but ever fascination with the lady knight except that this line of sight meant he found Arya as well.

And it was clear that tonight Lady Sansa had gotten to Arya.

Rather then her usual masculine style of wearing her hair like her half-brother and late father, her dark hair was down and framing her small face, which was clean and bright. And she was wearing a dress. It was a simple dark grey design with no fancy frills or patterns but it was figure hugging. It showed that Arya Stark was now a woman. And Gendry had nearly chocked on his stew when she'd entered the Great Hall, his ears flaming red and he was careful not to look at her again for the rest of the night.

She was sitting at the King's table with the rest of her family; Lady Sansa, Lord Bran, and Jon, of course. There was also the Dragon Queen, her white hair glowing in the candlelight, accompanied by her trusted handmaiden and Unsullied Commander and Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister. There was a quiet stillness to Arya that had never been there during their travelling days from King's Landing. She'd never been one for much listening and observing, that had been more of his role. She'd been the headstrong one, running into danger without a second thought, only difference now was he knew she would most likely kill her opponent. He wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to her during their five year separation to have turned her like this.

He saw Jon laugh quietly at something Daenerys Targaryen murmured to him and Gendry dropped his gaze back down to his ale feeling like he was intruding on a private moment with his observations. His eyes flickered back to the youngest Stark girl as she sipping from her mug, even from here he could see her faithful Needle secured to her belt. She still hadn't spoken to him; her gaze was so full of mistrust that Gendry was torn between feeling hurt and knowing he rightly deserved her suspicions. His mind wondered to a conversation that Jon had had with him when he'd visited him in the Winterfell forge one afternoon.

"_How goes the Dragonglass?"_

_Gendry held out a spear that he had been working on, only finished that morning, the sharp tip was black and shiny, ready to be plunged deep into a White Walker. He watched the King study the weapon, feeling it's deadly sharp tip lightly before turning his eyes back to Gendry. _

"_Ser Davos wasn't exaggerating. You are an excellent smith."_

"_The man I leant to smith under, Master Molt, used to clip me around the ears if I didn't improve fast enough. So I learnt, fast."_

_Jon's smirk widened before handing the weapon back to Gendry. They were both silent for a moment longer before Gendry spoke, "Can I help you with something else, Your Grace?"_

_For once Jon didn't correct Gendry on the use of his title and Gendry noticed. During their time beyond the Wall and the travels to Winterfell they had become fast friends. Gendry didn't know whether it was because Jon was a bastard too, they both understood the payment they had suffered because of their fathers' misadventures, or maybe because he felt like he knew Jon so well already, remembering the stories told to him by his youngest sister. _

_Instead Jon simply stood tall, his burning silver stare observing closely and Gendry tried not to be restless. He returned the stare though, stubborn bull that he was. _

"_You told me when we first met that you knew my father," he said lightly. _

_Gendry gave a nod, setting his hammer down on the anvil, "Aye, and every word was true." _

"_So why never mention Arya?"_

_The silence was filled with hesitation on Gendry's part, her name sending a ripple of something indescribable through his chest. He found his next words carefully knowing the man he was talking to now wasn't his friend Jon Snow, fellow bastard, but rather the King of the North, his favourite sibling being the topic of conversation. _

"_Because, Your Grace," Gendry finally lowered his eyes to the breastplate he'd been mending for an Unsullied solider, "I thought she was dead. I didn't think there was any point bring her up, for either of us. Would you not have blamed me for not protecting her better?" He paused slightly before continuing, still not able to meet Jon's gaze, "I didn't want to follow her to her mother and you're brother. Spend a life serving under a Lord King to satisfy the whims of a little lady knowing we'd never have the freedom to be friends again, not like we were then, when I could instead be fighting for the common people, doing something meaningful? So I decided against you're sister, chose the brotherhood, ignored all her warnings, and ended up in the exact place she warned me against. I nearly paid with my life for my stupidity. You're sister isn't stupid though, she was…she can just __**see**__ people, understand their true intentions so quickly, better then anyone I've ever known." _

_Gendry stopped, didn't dare say anymore. In true it was actually nice to come clean to Jon. He'd forced himself to forget Arya Stark very quickly; keep you're head down and it won't come off. That had been the code he lived by since Ser Davos had saved him from the Red Priestess. _

"_Look at me."_

_Gendry snapped his eyes back up to the King, suddenly feeling like that fifteen-year-old boy again in Master Molt's shop, meeting the grey eyes of another Stark. Jon was staring hard before Gendry found himself speaking again, "I worried you wouldn't let me follow you if you knew what I had done. And I had to help you, I just, had to…I knew she would have wanted it."_

_Finally Jon's gaze softened a fraction and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. _

"_I understand."_

_Gendry frowned and blinked stupidly, "You do?"_

_The corner of his mouth rose, "I thought joining the Night's Watch would give me a purpose beyond myself and earn the respect of others because I had deserved it through serving and hard work, not because I was born to parents who were married or to Lords and Ladies. But I was wrong, the Night's Watch was nothing of what I thought and everyone let me believe my fancies about it. But even if I had someone like Arya to warn me I think I still would have gone anyway, I was so desperate to prove myself, make a man out of myself that people might start to forget me as a bastard. See me as an equal, or something close anyway. We do stupid things when that acceptance is dangled in front of us, so easy to grasp too…" _

That had been a few days prior. Before leaving Jon had made Gendry swear to never keep information like that about his siblings from him again. Arya had been right all along; he _was_ stupid…

"You liking that view boy?"

Gendry's attention suddenly drew back to the Hound who was still watching the blacksmith very intently.

"What?" his blue eyes narrowed slightly at him.

A smirk began to spread over lopsided mouth, "You look like a man who could use some advice. So I'm gonna give you some advice; find yourself another woman, the little wolf'll chew you up and spit you back out."

Gendry shifted in his seat uncomfortable. Thankfully the others were too busy in their own conversations and refilling their ale mugs to have caught on to what the Hound had said.

"I don't need a woman right now," Gendry glared at him, "I'm a little busy helping to prepare for fighting the Night King. What have you been doing Clegane?"

"Oh, you need a woman alright," the Hound ignored Gendry's dig as his smirk turned into a full grin, his ugly deformed face showing just how much enjoyment he was getting from tormenting the younger man, "should've seen you're face when the little wolf walked in wearing a dress. You like her like that? All dolled up and pretty."

Gendry didn't reply, instead concentrating on stopping his hands from balling into fists, taking a measured drink from his ale, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck. Fucking dog! His snarled to himself.

"I always wondered what you two got up to when you travelled with her," the Hound grinned, his teeth barring, "What did you do on those cold nights? Get up nice and close to her little lady arse? She never mentioned you blacksmith, can't have made much of an impression."

"Shut up," Gendry snarled, he could feel the heat rising into his cheeks and ears now and if the others on the table hadn't noticed their interaction they did now.

"I hit a nerve huh?"

"Leave the boy alone Clegane," Beric interrupted gently, "He's a good lad."

"Aye," the Hound still didn't take his eyes off Gendry who stiffened, they had all the table's attention now, "Maybe he is. Doesn't change that he wants to fuck the little wolf bitch-"

All Gendry remembered was seeing red. Suddenly he swung his arm hard, even harder then when he puts his hammer to mental, his fist colliding with the Hound's jaw with a hit so forceful it sent the larger man from his chair. Their whole table exploded into action and noise as Gendry leapt over the table before the Hound could recover, landing on the disgruntled man, and slammed his fist again into the Hound's ugly face as his head banged against the hard stone floor.

But his vision suddenly blurred and pain exploded along his face when the Hound suddenly struck him, throwing him off and it was like a fury he didn't know, he charged at the Hound, wanting to tear him-

Suddenly arms seized him and hurled him away as voices shouted, scraping of steel as swords were drawn and a yell cut through the commotion –

"ENOUGH!"

It was Jon, pushing into the middle of the commotion along with Brienne and Ser Davos. Tormund was holding Gendry whilst Beric had pulled his sword from his belt, keeping the Hound at bay. Compared to a seething Gendry who closely resembled Drogon before he descended upon his enemies with fire, the Hound seemed only slightly agitated; in fact he looked rather amused by the entire situation.

"They'll be plenty of time for fighting when the dead arrive!" Jon growled his voice booming in the now silent hall.

"All my fault really Your Grace," the Hound growled "the lad was being a good boy, defending _her_ honor and all."

He nodded to Arya who Gendry hadn't notice had appeared standing close to Jon, Needle in her hand ready to pounce on her brother's order. But at the Hound's words she pulled back slightly and her surprised gaze locked with Gendry's for the first time since they had spotted each other in the courtyard of Winterfell.

Gendry could now taste the blood in his mouth, his right cheek throbbing as he struggled against Tormund until the Wildling let him go.

"My apologies your Grace," Gendry inclining his head as he uncurling his fists and heard his words muffled, his bottom lip felt swollen. Without another word he turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall leaving a silent party behind him.

The cold night air was a sudden welcome to Gendry. The moon was high and the night was quiet. For once Gendry didn't shiver. His skin felt hot as he stalked towards the forge trying to quiet the Hound's words about Arya.

_You like her like that? All dolled up and pretty._

_She never mentioned you blacksmith, can't have made much of an impression._

_Doesn't change that he wants to fuck the little wolf bitch._

Entering the forge Gendry glared at his surroundings, seizing a helmet that was waiting for his mending and threw it hard against the opposite wall. He was mad…no, _furious_…

He leaned his palms against the anvil, sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't even know _why_ he was so furious-!

"You're stupid you know that, right?"

Gendry's eyes opened slowly as her familiar voice washed over him. He turned to see her standing in the doorway of the forge, the snow had stopped falling and she was framed by the silent dark night behind her. They stared at each other, blue eyes meeting grey as Gendry swallowed the lump in his throat. Needle was securely back at her belt and instead she now held a bowl in her hands. Without any hesitation Arya moved into the forge and nodded to his cot saying, "Sit."

She placed the bowl down which Gendry could now see was filled with clear water wringing a clean cloth as Gendry lowered himself slowly onto his cot, staring at her, not sure if the Hound had hit him so hard he was now having visions.

Gendry watched in silence as Arya moved the cloth to his injured cheek, pressing its coolness to his burning skin, wiping the blood and soothing the injury. She was silent too, concentrating on her self-appointed task whilst Gendry studied her, feeling very alert now at her proximity. Her eyes, nose, mouth were still the same, but her face had lost some her baby fat. It was more angular, high cheekbones, with dark eyebrows and hair that reached her shoulders now. He could smell the rose and lemon that he was sure her sister had made her bathe in. In other circumstances he'd have teased her ruthlessly but he knew it was wiser to keep quiet for now.

"You're stupid," she repeated, a little softer this time, as she wet the now bloody cloth, turning the water a light pink, before returning to her work but this time near his right eyebrow dabbing at a cut that had opened. Her voice had lost its high-pitch whiney quality that belonged to young girls. She sounded like a woman now, mature and strong, and it made Gendry's stomach knot a little.

Gendry shrugged, "I've always been stupid. Milady."

Her hands froze as she met his eyes, her annoyance evident at her glare, and he broke into a sudden grin, his bottom lip splitting further but he didn't care.

"I'm not you're lady," she snapped, taking his hand suddenly and placing the cloth in it before bringing both up to his bottom lip, soothing the ache there, "I'm nobody's lady."

"No you're not. You're Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Maybe it was the trick of light or his clobbered head but Gendry swore he saw a small smile stretch across Arya's lips at his words. He watched her as she observed the forge around her before she turned back to him, hands her hips and chin raised, looking every bit the commanding lady she claimed she wasn't, "I don't need any man defending my honor. I'm more then capable of giving that old dog a good kick up his arse."

"I know. I've seen you sparing," Gendry resisted the urge to roll his eyes before hesitantly adding, "Is Jon mad?"

"Is _Jon_ mad?" Arya snapped at him in frustration and sudden anger, "You made me look weak, like some little girl in need of protection in front of all those lords and men! _I'm_ mad at you! And you're worried about my brother?!"

"Well," Gendry suddenly grinned again, removing the wet cloth from his lip, "He is the King. And I caused a scene at dinner."

"Don't worry," Arya's expression darkened further as she scowled, "you can do no wrong in Jon's eyes."

Gendry laughed suddenly, the action hurting his side a little but he didn't care, "You're not jealous are you milady?"

"Don't be stupid!" Arya spat and Gendry hoped dearly she'd stamp her foot too. He just openly laughed at her.

But his laughter died slowly as he watched her stare at him. His gaze swept over her, from her dark hair to each new curve that was on sudden display in that damn dress. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the breasts that had not been there before, and knowing the lean legs she'd have under that skirt. He swore he saw her flush under his blatant observations and seeing her react like that only tightened the knots in his stomach.

"Wrap you're hand up," she said suddenly, the icy wall returning and Gendry suddenly felt guilty and ashamed for making her feel vulnerable under his stare, "It'll be bruised badly in the morning."

She moved to the door with such speed that Gendry panicked. He didn't want her to leave again, not after being separated for so long and such a short relapse back into their comradeship. It just wasn't enough.

"Arya!" even to his own ears his voice sounded strangled and desperate. He inwardly cringed. She paused in the doorway of the forge, her back to him, tension in her shoulders, "I-thank-you. For the water and bowl, and, helping me…"

She half turned to him then, a small smile on her lips before she said, "Returning the favour."

Gendry frowned, "What?"

"The sword," she said softly. Her grey eyes gleamed and Gendry felt a flush rise on his neck but he kept her gaze locked with his, "It's beautiful. Thank you."

She turned then, disappearing into the dark night beyond the forge and Gendry felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he gazed after the little lady of Winterfell.


	3. Chapter 3: Arya

_Just a short little chapter this time but thought it would be nice to have a little filter chapter. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this story, its sort of evolving as I go, I suppose each chapter could be a stand alone. Also I will be bring in characters that were killed on the show because I simply do not agree with their deaths happening. So please enjoy and leave a little review! _

**Arya **

He hadn't noticed her yet. He was pounding hard against the metal over and over again, bare skin exposed from his hips upwards. She watched the play of muscles as they contracted and relaxed in a rhythm under his tight skin. He was powerful and her mouth suddenly felt dry, her palms clammy. His skin was sleek with sweat and soot from the forge's fires. The air was hot and smoky. Nobody else was there, just him and her. She found her feet moving forward, the hem of her skirt brushing her ankles.

It was hotter nearer the fires, the clanging of his hammer was loud. She reached a hand out, her fingers almost brushed his burning skin when he turned abruptly and she gaped at him like a fish out of water. His face softened when his blue eyes landed on her, so, _so_ blue. She sucked in a breath, it felt suck in her lungs, so she gasped again, her breaths were loud, harsh and ragged in her ears but she didn't care.

Why wouldn't he just _touch_ her?!

As if on cue, he dropped the hammer with a loud thud to the floor took her face between his hands and kissed her with such rawness the world grounded to a halt. She bit down hard on his bottom lip as he pulled away suddenly, his blue eyes dark and lusty. He reached down, his hands gripping her thighs and she leap into his arms as her legs circled his waist and her hands slipped against his sweaty skin, feeling like a burning fire under her, burning _her_-

Why was she still wearing _clothes_?!

He pushed her down roughly onto one of the benches and seized the hem of her skirt and suddenly tore the fabric clean to her hips with such a ferocity that her entire body shuddered and she grasped at him, the muscles in his forearm straining as he did so. And with the same aggressiveness he grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against his as she desperately found his lips again. Their tongues battled, she bit him as he squeezed her hips painfully tight.

But she wanted more, she could feel her eyes watering, please, please, _please_!

Suddenly one hand left her hip and cupped her between her legs, curling his strong fingers and began to massage in slow, strong strokes over her smallclothes. A noise like a wounded animal escaped her throat and she tore her mouth away from his, their eyes locked both so dark and wanting, and she gasped, "Gendry!"

"Arya!"

It was like being dropped from a sudden height and landing on a very large boulder. Arya scrambled wildly away from her pillows and sheets, gasping in horror, her heart racing and her body buzzing with a frantic energy, tangled in her sheets she panicked and unceremoniously fell over the side of her bed trying to free herself, a sudden very ladylike shriek escaping her mouth.

Her heart pounding she desperately scrambled to her feet from the cold stone floor, her cheeks red and her legs feeling unsteady under her. Her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and her tunic was sticking to her chest and back.

Sansa stood on the opposite side of her bed staring at her in shock whilst Arya glared back at her. She could see Bran in his chair by the door, also watching Arya although more curiously then their sister. Suddenly Sansa started to shake with a chuckle that turned into a loud fit of laugher watching her younger sister with an incredible stare as she fumed and huffed. Even Bran had lost a bit of his vacant expression, the corners of mouth rising and one eyebrow lifted.

"Yes!" spat Arya suddenly in a terrible mood, "Hilarious Sansa!"

"I didn't do anything!" Sansa just continued to laugh but held up her hands in surrender, "I just woke you and you frightened yourself to death!"

"What do you both want?!" Arya snapped. She promised she'd kill now for Sansa, and Bran, if they gave the order, but right now sticking Needle's pointy end in them both seemed like a brilliant idea. Especially Sansa.

"Are you alright?" her laughter had died but her sister was still grinning widely at her.

"No thanks to you!"

"She was having a dream," Bran spoke from behind Sansa, his eyes suddenly sharp and met Arya's without embarrassment or hesitation.

Arya's sour mood evaporated instantly when she had registered Bran's words. She paled. She wanted the floor of her clambers to swallow her whole.

_Gods no! No, no, no!_

Maybe he could now read minds now too or maybe some semblance of the old Bran was still in there and he took pity on his sister, displaying a rare sign of mercy for his nature these days, he said nothing further.

Sansa watched the interaction between her younger siblings curiously.

"Were you having a nightmare? You were twisted and kicking in you're sleep, whispering something, you were holding the sheets like you were going to tear them-" Sansa sobered at the thought, instantly feeling guilty. She knew Arya was haunted by her own demons, just as much as she, Bran and Jon were by theirs.'

"She wasn't having a nightmare."

"Shut up Bran!" Arya snarled half in panic and half in anger, "Both of you! Either say what you want to say or get out!"

Sansa frowned but instead sighed gently before saying, "Jon is requesting you're presence in the Great Hall. All of us actually. The Starks had an old ally arrive in the night."

"Who?" said Arya. She threw her messy furs back onto her bed and began searching for her trousers refusing to meet her sister and brother's eyes.

"The Baratheons."

_Let me know what you all think! :) _


	4. Chapter 4: Gendry & Arya

_I had terrible writer's block with this chapter but the first episode for GOT fixed that! I love the new dynamic to Gendry/Arya's relationship in the show, best direction they could have gone with it! _

**Gendry**

The steel hissed as he dipped the hot metal into the bucket of water next to the anvil. He lifted the steel and carefully inspected it, taking a wet cloth and smoothed down the blade until it's silver began to glimmer brilliantly under the glow from the dark forge's fires.

He wondered what Master Molt would think of him now. At first he'd tried to seek out the master blacksmith on his return to King's Landing but his old shop had been taken over by another who knew nothing of what had happened to it's predecessor. Gendry hoped the older man was somewhere safe at least, he had been cruel to be kind sending Gendry away when he had. He'd given him a trade and kept him alive in what way he could. He'd even been kind on occasion. Given him an extra few coins when he'd been younger for an apple or an orange when he'd done particularly well in a new project.

Now Gendry knew why such an old and knowledgeable blacksmith had taken him in. He was a dead King's son, at that time a royal bastard, some might argue he had just as much right to claim the throne as Daenerys Targaryen. Somebody had paid Master Molt a handsome amount to keep him alive, provide him with a solid education to make a name for him self in some way. He'd always wondered who that might have been in the circle of villains and heroes that surrounded the Iron Throne.

Gendry was just about to begin the careful process of sharpening the blade's edges when a small figure caught his eye as it emerged from the shadows.

Arya Stark stood as silent as ever, hands clasped behind her back, her grey eyes fixed on him, the unnerving stillness that she now wore like a mask against her emotions was well and truly in tact. But Gendry didn't believe such a mask for a second, he'd seen too much of her emotions a few night earlier to be fooled by it.

They watched each other for a moment before Gendry smirked a little and inclined his head towards her, "Milady."

Her grey eyes narrowed for a moment before she flickered her eyes around the room, "Where are the other blacksmiths?"

"Eating," Gendry replied simply, watching her as she spotted his war hammer against the wall. Despite being an absolute cock at times Tormund had kept his promise and returned his weapon to him after he'd arrived back at the Wall, right before the enormous gate had been shattered to the ground.

"And you aren't?"

"The dead don't eat or sleep or tire do they?"

He watched Arya run her fingers over the stag head that he'd engraved on the side of the weapon. Her fingers looked small and dainty against the huge weapon but he knew better. She could kill a man in less then a second with those fingers.

She looked over her shoulder at him, meeting his gaze, "No Bull. Why a Stag?"

Stags. Gendry remember a few days ago when Lady Shireen Baratheon had rode into Winterfell with a force of Baratheon bannermen, the stag sigil waving proudly in the wind. A sigil many thought would die out forever after the death of the Baratheon brothers. He remembered being summoned to Jon's parlor very early one morning. He'd only been working that morning for a hour or two, it had still been dark so it surprised him seeing one of the castle's servants standing at the forge door a few morning's prior.

_Shireen Baratheon seemed very much alive for a dead girl. Her once long and lush auburn hair was cut short to her head, her greyscale scar even more pronounced now, her right hand was gloved and she wore trousers. But her blue eyes, identical to his own he was surprised to find, were clear and strong and her mouth pulled into a hard line. _

"_I didn't see-?" Bran surprised everybody by talking first. He was staring at Shireen as if he was the most confounded by her presence. _

"_Some of the men," she said slowly, "pulled me from the flames and ran with me. Half of my father's men deserted him after that moment. Melisandre was furious."_

_At the name Gendry felt bile rise in his throat and a ball of fury began to burn in his chest. To want to burn him was one thing, but a little girl? She was barely Bran's age, how could her father commit his only child to such a horrid fate all because of the mad blabbering of a evil witch. One day, Gendry thought in that moment, one day the witch would pay for what she'd done to both of them. _

"_The men that saved me took me to Edric Storm, my cousin, he's been taking refuge in Lys from Melisandre and my father. After hearing about the Night King the men loyal to us rode with me to you. I offer my services as the heir of House Baratheon in any way that I can. My father respected you're father and I want my house to survive this, so I will stand with you King of the North."_

_Jon's gaze softened at the younger girl's words and he smiled, "You are most welcome My Lady. We'll have a room made up for you and you're men and horses will have whatever we can provide for them. But before you do I know someone who is very eager to say hello to you again."_

_Suddenly the stony expression on Shireen's face shifted to a wide grin and her gaze watered as it moved to the Sir Davos who had just entered the solar behind Gendry, closing the door and froze, his eyes locked on Shireen. _

_There was a silent pause before they flew to each other and Gendry smiled. Ser Davos had spoken of Shireen very little because it pained him so, but he knew how much the older man had loved her. He was reminded of Arya's reunion with Jon in that moment. That desperate but unbelievable happiness, like finding an old treasure you thought was lost forever. Ser Davos held the little girl close, seeming to squeeze the life from her but she didn't seem to mind one bit, her happy laugher filling room and Gendry was suddenly very glad she'd survived too._

_Gendry; his face, forearms, hands and clothes were covered in soot and grim from his work, stood behind the pair not really knowing what do in the situation he found himself in. He tried to catch Arya's eye but she was watching Jon as he moved around the desk towards the hugging pair a wide grin pulling onto his face._

"_There's somebody else I'd like you to meet," he said. He approached Gendry and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "This is Gendry Water. He's one of the last remaining bastards of Robert Baratheon." _

_Gendry watched, feeling a little embarrassed, as all eyes were on him now, and little Shireen Baratheon stared at him, assessing him slowly from head to toe as she pulled away from Ser Davos to face her new cousin. _

"_I never met Uncle Robert," she finally said but her voice was not unfriendly, "But I met Uncle Renly once. You look a little like him from what I remember."_

"_Oh he's Robert's son alright Milady," said Ser Davos. _

"_Yes," Brennie of Tarth spoke up from her corner. _

_Gendry blinked at her in surprise as the Lady Knight smiled softly at him, "He's the spitting image of King Robert, yes, but he has Renly's kindness, and his sense of honor." _

_Gendry felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck not knowing where to look until Shireen Baratheon spoke again and he met his cousin's eyes as she smiled at him in a way that he suddenly felt at ease since he'd entered the parlor, "Good." _

Gendry cocked his head to the side as he gazed at Arya, "You know why. It's the sigil of House Baratheon. I am a Baratheon, a bastard one, but still. And I have King's blood. No point denying it, I've seen the damage it can do."

He watched Arya's brow frown at his words and she turned more to face him then, "What do you mean?"

Gendry felt his mouth go dry suddenly wishing he'd not said that last part. He was the reason her eldest brother had been killed after all. He remembered the way the leech had disappeared into those fires, and each name Stannis Baratheon had uttered was now a name for a gravestone. He lowered his gaze back to the sword he'd been working on, picking up the sharpening file to begin working on it.

"Nothing Arya," he muttered. He knew she'd press him for an answer but a sudden clobber of running feet interrupted any line of questioning she might have subjected him too.

"Ser Gendry!"

A stable boy burst through the forge's door making both him and Arya turn to him. Gendry opened his mouth to tell him he was no Ser but the boy didn't give him the chance.

"The King is needing you Ser! You're to ride out with him to Moat Cailin. He's asked for you!"

Gendry suddenly frowned, "But I have work to do-"

But the boy didn't wait for a response and now he could hear commotion in the courtyard. Without a thought he seized his warhammer and made to follow the stable boy with a frowning Arya quick on his heels.

When the pair entered the courtyard Gendry saw Jon, Jorah Mormont and Beric Dondarrion swinging onto horses, townsfolk and servants running here and there. Ser Davos' face was set into a grimace as he approached Gendry and Arya.

"The dead have been spotted by scouts, they'll reach Moat Cailin before sundown. Jon wants him and some of his best fighters to head to the nearest villages there and start to empty them, send these people south. These people aren't fighters and he'll need men who have already faced the dead and know how to kill them."

"But why me?" frowned Gendry, taking the reins from Ser Davos. He's horse neighed, a large brown beast with strong eyes and teeth that looked like he wanted to bite Gendry.

"Because there isn't anyone I trust more to watch my back."

All three looked up at Jon whose mouth and eyes were set had, his eyes on Gendry, "There is a village just north of Moat Cailin. You and I will ride hard there. The people there must begin leaving at once."

"Let me come," Arya suddenly peeped up. Gendry glanced at her, she looked on a knife's edge, ready for a fight. Her grey eyes were hard and her face determined, "One man might not be enough and I'm one of the best killers in Winterfell. I can protect you both."

Gendry glanced at Arya. He hadn't missed how she had said _both_ and he couldn't ignore the little tremor in his chest at the word. She actually cared if he lived or died too.

But Jon shook his head, "I need you here Arya. You haven't fought the dead before and I can't be distracted with you're safety today. Protect Sansa and Bran, they're more important today."

"Brienne is here! I can help you!"

"I said no Arya," Jon's tone suddenly changed and he glared at his younger sister, "You always wanted to be a knight, a solider. You're King is giving you an order now. Stay in Winterfell, defend it if I don't return. You're one of our best chances of defending this castle when the dead make it here, do you hear me?"

Arya stared at her brother her expression unreadable for a moment before she turned her back on him and walked around the other side of Gendry's horse and started fiddling with something. Gendry turned back to Jon, his face had fallen at Arya's anger, he sighed and nodded at Gendry his eyes looking a little less hard now, and pulled his horse around, calling out to Johah Mormount.

"Here," Ser Davos shoved a satchel into Gendry's hands, "You'll be needing this. You might be gone for a few days."

"But what about the forge-?"

"The others know what they're doing now. You taught them well, yes? It'll still be here when you return. I hope."

Gendry nodded at the older man pulling the satchel strap across his body and gripping his war hammer he made his way around his horse to where Arya was tightening his horse's saddle straps, she tugged aggressively, and from where he stood he could see her hands tremble. He frowned. Arya never trembled.

"You're shit at riding," she snapped, her voice was suddenly brimming with emotion, "You'd have fallen from him as soon as he would have started running if I hadn't tightened these."

Her words were biting fire but the way her hands trembled and how she had said _both_ only moments ago made Gendry come close to her. The top of her head reached just under his chin.

"Arya."

She ignored him and pulled a strap tight in answer. He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it but he did it anyway. He raised his hand and covered both of hers' stopping her action and she froze. He never openly touched her like this, ever. Especially not out in the open where any member of her highborn family could see him. Regardless he moved closer and she didn't pull away. He could feel her quick breaths against their hands.

"I'll protect Jon. I promise."

"I know," she said quietly, almost too quiet against the commotion of the courtyard but Gendry could hear her standing this close, "it's not just…I don't think I'd like it if you didn't come back."

Arya whispered it like it was a shameful secret, little Arya Stark, one of the best killers in Winterfell (she'd been right to name herself as such, Gendry thought) was actually willing to admit a weakness; she cared too deeply. Gendry said nothing in response though, just watched her, her eyes remained glued to their hands. He felt her hand shift and he thought she would pull away, step back into her emotionless persona, but she instead intertwined one of her hands into one of his and held it tight against his horse's saddle ties.

He raised his other hand slowly and cupped her cheek, dipped his hand into her hair at the back of her neck. The skin of her cheek was soft and suddenly pink and warm against his rough hands and her hair had a smoothness to it that surprised him. Her brother and his men would probably kill him for touching his younger sister like this but if she was willing to say a little of her inner thoughts to him after pushing him away so much, he just wanted to feel a little bit of her before this was over.

Gendry swallowed hard and watched in surprise as Arya's eyes closed suddenly for a moment as she leaned into his palm and then raised her eyes to his. Round and brilliant grey against her dark hair and pale face as they met his and Gendry suddenly felt a powerful tug in his chest. She had only ever looked at him like this once before, _I can be you're family_. He took a sudden step forward, leaned into her, tightened his hold against her neck and felt her breath stop-

"Lad! Up on your horse!"

Gendry snatched his hands back from Arya as they both jumped apart. He looked around wildly before she stepped back. Johah Mormount was looked at them both, an unreadable expression on his face.

"The King's already gone through the gates," was all he said.

Without another word Gendry placed one foot into the girth of his saddle and heaved himself up swinging his other leg over. He adjusted his war hammer and looked back down for one more glimpse of the youngest Stark girl but she was gone from the courtyard. As silent and quick as a shadow as ever.

He swung his horse around and he fell in step with Mormount as they rode quickly through the large grey stone gates of Winterfell. He could see Jon and Beric up ahead as they rode to catch them.

**Arya**

Arya was a warrior. An assassin. A faceless man. A killer.

She was not, in any circumstances, a coward.

So why was she running.

Her feet was hitting the stony pavements as she dodged townsfolk and servants through the courtyard of Winterfell before the ground softened out and she suddenly skidded to a halt before she threw herself, clothes and all, straight into the Godswood's hot springs.

She could still feel his big warm hand on her cheek and neck, that tender look in his eyes as he leaned down to her and her stomach twisted in both fear and exhalation. She wasn't as naïve as most highborn girls her age. She'd once worn the face of a maid in a whorehouse in Braavos. She knew what Gendry was about to do in that moment.

And she had wanted him to so very badly. The thought brought both a shame and excitement to her. She had never wanted to be a lady or a wife or a mother. It was why she clung so desperately to the dreams of her childhood; a faceless killer was the furthest thing from a lady. Her own personal fuck you to the status quo dictated to her sex.

But she knew what fucking was. She'd seen it in her years apart from her family, first with the raping of women in Harrenhal and then in the brothels with the Brotherhood and in Braavos. Selling herself to men never held any appeal to her, she belonged to no man and nobody would hold power over her, especially not somebody with a dick.

She remembered the dream she'd had about Gendry the week earlier, the images her mind had conjured up still making her blush. That wild and uncontrollable want and need that had crawled her insides apart; how he'd torn her dress apart and how they had kissed like each other's lips were their only source of air-

Arya shook her head and scolded herself. Now was not the time to be thinking about kissing blacksmiths. She felt some of her anger from earlier return to her. She should have gone with Jon, she was a better rider and fighter then Gendry. She should be there, protecting both their backs. Because she didn't know what she'd do if neither or only one came back.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Arya jumped in surprise and spun on her heel to frown at Ser Davos who stood before her, smirking a little.

"It's not everyday a man can sneak up on Arya Stark. I should be proud."

Arya schooled her features and placed her hands behind her back, raising her chin slightly, "Anything I can help you with Ser Davos?"

"No Milady," he said nodding his head respectfully and Arya didn't have the heart to scold him for using her title. There was something honest and caring about the man, a rarity found these days Arya thought, especially in the way he seemed to council both Jon and Gendry to keep their heads on straight. In some way she was reminded of her Uncle Benjen in his views of the world and how he treated people.

"I was just admiring the beauty of the Godswood," said Arya turning her back on the man as she returned her gaze to dark blue of the water before her, steam rose from it in ripples, the high leaved trees providing a protective cover for those who wished to bathe. The ground was lightly covered with a thick layer of snow though.

"It is a beautiful place," she heard the older man make his way to stand beside her looking over at the water, "It has a peace to it."

"My father used to come here sometimes," Arya said after a moment of silence, "I would sometimes follow him here, watch him through the trees as he sat by the Gods' tree and sharpened Ice. He would sit and think, a frown always on his face. Sometimes he knew I was there, he'd call out to me, and I'd sit in his lap as he told me stories about his time playing in here with my uncles and aunt. Or he'd tell me stories about the children of the forest, white walkers and giants beyond the wall. Battles and knights, great tournaments from his younger days."

"I never met Ned Stark," said Ser Davos, "But Stannis Baratheon always spoke highly of him. There weren't many men that Stannis respected, but I can tell you, you're father was one of them, so that says a lot in my opinion."

"My mother would have been furious with father if she'd known he was telling me those tells and stories," said Arya smiling softly, "Sansa always wanted to be the princess in the stories, but I always wanted to be the knight. 'Hands of a blacksmith' our septa once told me. I told Gendry that once, he laughed said my hands were as little as a kitten. I push him over for that."

"You knew each other well?" asked Ser Davos and Arya heard the hint of curiosity in his tone.

They hadn't spoken much of their past history to others. Arya didn't exactly know why. There were secrets in the horrors they had seen on the road during their time since leaving King's Landing, protected each other and formed a bond that was different to any other bond they had with anybody else in Winterfell. They had accepted each other for who they were in their most basic form. Until Gendry had ruined everything and placed the difference in their social standings between them.

"We travelled together from King's Landing for a few years. Looked out for each other when we needed to," said Arya simply, "We were separated when the Brotherhood sold him to the Red Witch."

"And that's when I met him," finished Ser Davos, "At Dragonstone."

Arya said nothing, just watched as the steam continued to gently rise from the water before them.

"Milady there is something I need to say," Arya picked up the change in the man's tone and she felt her shoulder's and back tense. She remembered when her father's tone would shift like this and he'd explain to her, calmly but firmly, why she wasn't allowed to do this or that, "the boy doesn't have the same advantages as you. He doesn't have a powerful family to protect him."

Arya said nothing, waiting for the man to continue, "He's been fooled by smart women before, played by them. He was almost killed for it. He's a good lad; strong and loyal. I'm asking you please milady, don't play with him. You're brother is the King and the Starks are well respected. What do you think would happen to him if you're family found out? Jon likes the lad, trusts and respects him, what do you think he'd do if he found out-"

"Who I bed is none of you're concern Ser Davos," said Arya. She turned then to look the man straight in the eyes who in turn looked at her in shock as he paled slightly.

"He's bedded you? Milady, he could be killed if-"

"Do I seem like the type of Lady to let my brother control whom I spend my time with Ser Davos? Or to play with men? I never bothered to learnt how to flirt with them, only if it meant how to kill them better. And if I wanted Gendry dead I wouldn't need my brother to do it for me. I won't let my brother or anybody else hurt him because of me."

"You don't understand Milady," said Ser Davos slowly shaking his head and frowned deeply, "Gendry is the bastard of a dead King. He has noble blood yes, but he's still an _unclaimed bastard_. That makes him still a lowborn from Flea Bottom. He has no right to be bedding a highborn lady, which is what you are whether you want to be or not," Ser Davos cut off her retort, "any number of the Northern Lords would call arms to defend the honor of their sworn house's daughter whether you or Jon wanted it or not. They'd cut off his head with his own war hammer because they'd find it insulting when you could be betrothed to one of their own sons or nephews. All I'm asking, Milady, is to not put your self or the boy in that situation. He deserves better and you have the power to give that to him."

Arya turned then and began to walk away not wanting to hear a single word more. But she suddenly stopped in her tracks and turned to Ser Davos sharply, "And if I left? If I left Winterfell, crossed the Narrow Sea to Essos and put the name Stark behind me, do you think he'd follow me? Then it would be to hell with all the Northern lords and their ideas."

But Ser Davos regarded her with sad eyes before saying, "I hope it doesn't come to that Milady."

They both gazed tensely at each other before Arya turned on her heel and walked away. Her stride and stature was calm but her heart was pounding and her mind was racing with Ser Davos' words. What was she thinking? Of course she couldn't leave Winterfell, the Starks had only just reclaimed it. There was a war to be won, first against the Night King and then she'd finish her list. She had promised the God of Death Cersei Lannister, and she would deliver. And Gendry had only _tired_ to kiss her, or so she thought, that didn't mean he was ready to run with her.

As she climbed the steps to the overlook of Winterfell's courtyard her heart began to sink to her belly. She knew Ser Davos was right, of course he was. She stood looking over the courtyard and at the gates through which her brother and Gendry had ridden through less then an hour ago. She watched as Shireen Baratheon stood bow and arrow in hand, her arms shaking with the strain of pulling the bowstring back as she aimed at her target. But she was determined. Arya recognized that determination, that had once been her many years ago, determined to not be what her mother, sister and septa were insisting she must be. Firing again and again and again until she had finally succeeded. Everything else was a distraction.

No, romance was not on the cards for Arya Stark she decided at that moment. It was a bothersome affair, too mind consuming, too unimportant in a world like the one they lived in. The past few weeks had been moments of weakness she thought to herself as she narrowed her eyes. And she wasn't weak, she wasn't a hapless girl pining after a man's affections. Fuck that!

She had a mission. She had returned to Westeros for a purpose, and she would achieve that purpose. First she would help Jon save the North, and then she'd find Cersei Lannister. And kill her.

_Please review and let me know what you all think! _


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